My poetrybook

The Ally

I am not a true chameleon, though I blend in every wall.
And you’ll never find me, I make sure you will not recall
my name, nor my ways. There will be left nothing at all.
For I’ll never be your mirror, your woo will be your fall.

We

Before you tremble in scorching pains,
leave your snarls and growls in the liar and
ease time by fighting shadows of collision.

Your soils are disturbed as I sleep in my rest,
waiting for your icy sulfur to call on me.
You are the unripe fruit I can’t let go.
In the square of your circling thoughts
I found a sprouting seedling. In my mind the
gathering of fruits left a hole. A small memory of
the days that were, before the streams came.
Then I had forgotten each seed must fall apart
to bring forth fruit. Our strong and brave forever.

But I know why you’re falling apart.
You are shattered in myriad diamonds.
Therefore you need to be merged by me.

Awakening

Away, away, do go away you say and say.
For I did not rush in flight, not then.
Finally I grabbed hold of your hand when
I saw their faces, in sort of pale grey.
Unfolding a boldness I scarcely wore
on my dry grounds, I looked back to
see the waters, closing them in. I knew
I will not see them, not ever no more.

Overclothed nakedness

My thoughts were shy in a line
My colours lied in light abundance
They say the eights day is the worst
I awoke in your eyes and I feared
In curt refusal I turned away
Ignoring your true pains
But in fall my fig leafs failed
I cross over, in awe for you

Seeds

words of the dying
like ashes of wild fire
a desolate mire

what used to be

Why what things used to be ain’t what they used to be.
Walking this maze, I felt lost in the land of the lonely.
The false flat of surviving in déjà vu is not living at all.
Finally He took me to another room. Now you know,
why what things used to be ain’t what they used to be.

The long walk

Seventy-four miles. Up against a storm
I walk. I long for you. A wannabe ladder
to bring up the bowls. You will reform
seventy-four miles. Up against a storm
I dance with bruised knees, lukewarm.
You come toward me, for you I matter.
Seventy-four miles up against a storm
I walked. You long for me to be a ladder.



poetry

The Watchman

Warn as a mega antenna!
I drink my tea, I die in silence.
Jasmine and Louise still are a pair.
Long gone history recalled.
I hope for a change of paradigm,
living on this full exchange
of you and me. A seer I am.
Finally I can understand you.
But then, emotionally drained, I lost
my point of view, the one
I treasured and fought for
so long and so hard.
The antidote is to rejoice and leap for joy.
So what’s the point?
I now see things your way.
But will you defend the me in you?
I drink my tea, you dye my colors,
while Jasmine still is my favorite.
A range. An amen. A wasn’t.

poetry

Day of Atonement

First published on October 12, 2005

I stand in awe
I poured out my heart
I have waited for you
It has been so long
In all this darkness and tribulation
I have not lost you
I see you coming for your bride

And you separate them
Sheep to the right
Goats to the left

And you will invite me
To the Feast on that day
The gates of righteousness will open
And I will go in
And be with you
Forever and ever

poetry
painting
visual
art